Hotel/Motel

Having tried out the mattress and seen the astral box springs, and learning that it would only last 7-9 months, our reasonings suddenly left us. We decide it was a steal, let's buy it anyways, even the monkey likes it. We communicate this to the showcasers, Red and bald man that barks, and they nod silently several times, almost bowing. At first we were impressed with their solemnity, but eventually we realize they were sleeping and we wake them up by hitting them with the nearby flimsy twin mattresses decorated with paintball splats. We restate our intentions, and they quickly escort us out of the warehouse into the front office.

Existing as the cover for the whole operation, the front office is set up to look normal as it concealed the variety of nefarious activites that found homes in the warehouse, including series of un- certified Russian accent lessons. The woman sits us down at a desk, which is very non descript and therefore suspicious. She begins to fill out paperwork furiously, referencing price charts, size and name descriptions, America's Most wanted ads, and a collection of missing persons milk cartons. Knowing that any minute now our senses will return, she races through these background checks to get to the payment and signature on the dotted line part. Finally, having spilt milk all over her gloves while massaging her cramping hands, she says aloud "Do we have any more of the Hotel/Motel beds left, kingsize, Mom?"

Realizing this was a family operation, our senses begin to come back.

What happened next is a bit of a jumble, senses coming back and all. Turns out Mom sold the last of the taco hotel/motel beds and the only things left in the warehouse that were king-sized were the Windsor. I realize that this Windsor would sound much better than Hotel/Motel when the women in the village get together and discuss what kind of mattress their husbands bought for them, I insist we try it out. We go back to the warehouse, repeat the entire sit, roll over, hit with flimsy twin mattress, etc process, and eventually walk out of the place with a very nice mattress to our name. And a five year old's Stephen Hawking's boxspring.